My friend, Edwin, sent this to me: “We'll always remember her sense of humour and that beautiful smile. I was on Guard of Honour, waiting for the King of Saudi Arabia, on Horse guards Parade ground. On the right flank were Scots Guard (100 guardsmen), a gap, HM The Queen, mounted in uniform alongside her was the CO, Colonel Gerald, another gap, then on the left flank, the Queen’s Company Grenadier Guards (another 100 guardsmen). We’re stood at ease waiting. Suddenly the silence was broken by Colonel Gerald’s charger erupting with horse farts at full volume for two minutes. Embarrassed and staring straight ahead Colonel Gerald said, “Sorry about that Your Majesty!” She replied, in a wonderful voice, “That’s alright Gerald. . . . I thought it was your horse!” 200 guardsmen silently cried with laughter and tapped their rifle butts on the gravel. From that moment, every man there adored her!”
It's a great story, and I have no doubt about her naughty sense of humour, but how did 200 guardsmen hear her reply in an official outdoor parade?
Tuesday was rather dull. The weather was dull and damp, and I was dull because I did not sleep on Monday night. However, I enjoyed the time I spent with Bruno and loved having a day without any clinic work. I haven’t been having much time to spend in the Périgord with Bruno; I’ve been too busy with volunteering. So, yesterday was a delightful change.
I had a nice big fire in the morning (3:30 am) and another in the late afternoon. It certainly turns a damp and cold day into a lovely cozy inside day.
I sent this email yesterday: “Hello Island Playwrights and James Bay New Horizons Society. I did 3 monologues professionally and was a regular of The Flame in Vancouver. The Flame is a storytelling collective. I was also an educator, professionally. While I was teaching at Emily Carr University of Art & Design, I awoke one day and started a new life that, for the ensuing two years meant up to 20 seizures a day and extreme disfluency. I'd reached the end of my working life. I’m now officially disabled because my impediment can be so severe for months at a time. But I’ve learned tricks. Perhaps you know that people who stutter can sing. It’s communicating using a different neural pathway. I can be verbal if I speak in rhythm and in rhyme. If I am successful with this application, I will become, for you, an old white weak rapper that, through my effort, will make your audience feel good. I promise. Attached is my submission. Thank you for this opportunity and your trust.”
It's an application to be part of the first annual Island Monologue Festival. Just applying is exciting.
The sun is back today, but the ground is finally retaining water. I’ve a ton of errands to do today, but the day begins with a l-o-n-g clinic board meeting.